


Feathers

by Wolfepup



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Spell Failure, Wing!Douxie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfepup/pseuds/Wolfepup
Summary: Poor Douxie--all he wanted to do was help his oldest friend when a spell horribly, incomprehensibly, misfires.
Relationships: Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan/Zoe, Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the first stories I wrote for this fandom. I don't think there is enough wingfics!

“Archie!” A blast of sickly green magic slammed into the familiar, sending the small dragon to the ground. “Oh, you will PAY for that!” Hirisdoux brought his staff to bear, a beam of bright blue shooting out. The world glowed as it shot across the small field just outside of the town of Arcadia Oaks, impacting into a hastily erected shield.

“Confounded wizard!” the Changeling, still wearing its pizza delivery uniform, braced the shield with two of its four arms. The other arms held a slim, small staff in each, the two halves connected by a glittering chain.

Douxie pushed on his magic blast, casting a quick eye over his shoulder at Archie.

“I’m fine, Douxie, watch yourself!”

He looked back at the Changeling, dodging to one side as it returned fire, a blast of sickly red shooting from one of the sticks.

“Hah!” The changeling crowed in victory, pumping one fist in the air, “I have you now, wizard!”

“Not so fast,” with a flick of his bracer, the magic circle under one of the changeling’s feet glowed blue, turning into a mass of magical goo that held it fast. Tendrils of blue wrapped around it, binding it. A quick incantation, and it was frozen in time. He would tell the other trolls about it, if they hadn’t already sensed the magic battle above their home.

Douxie stumbled over to Archie, carefully gathering him up in his arms. “Are you okay, old friend?”

“Phaw, I am fine,” Archie extended one batlike wing, but winced when he tried to open the other one.

“Here, let me look.” With Archie carefully perched on his lap, Douxie slowly opened the wing, cringing as he saw the misshapen arm and torn webbing. “We need to get you home, patch this up.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Archie lowered his head at the lack of reply. “I see. Well, ol chap, looks like you will have to carry me back then, seeing as I can’t fly.”

Douxie grunted as he stood up, cradling his oldest friend against his chest.

“How could I have been so stupid, letting that shot hit me like that. You would think all these year—”

“You did fine,” Douxie cut off Archie’s tirade. “I could have stopped it as well.”

The familiar placed a paw on Douxie’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. Now, I don’t think any of the local 24 hour veterinarians could help me though.”

The wizard chuckled. “I think not. However, I do recall seeing a healing spell that might work.”

The night air was cool, and Douxie hurried as quickly as he could without jostling the badly damaged wing. “But Douxie, you are terrible at healing magic.”

“That was before I was a Master Wizard.” He glanced down at Archie. “I don’t want to risk your wing not healing correctly.” He darted around a tree, parts of its bark scorched from a previous battle.

“True, well, then, I am willing to risk it if you are!”

**

The ritual was ready, Archie laying on his stomach, wings splayed out. Runes in pale blue chalk were drawn on the damaged wing, focused on the bone. Archie was a magical creature, but healing faster did not mean healing correctly. The torn webbing had already started to mend, but the scarring would interfere with his flight for at least the next 100 years, until it did manage to heal properly. Douxie turned to the page in the book, referencing his notes.

He and Archie had poured over the spell for several hours, until they were both satisfied with the result. The spell they found was for a bird’s wing, but they removed most of the references to feathers, and replaced that with mending flesh and skin. Douxie inhaled deeply, hoisting his staff in the air and he began to chant softly.

Blue magic wafted throughout the workshop, swirling around the staff. Douxie pointed the staff at the damaged wing, and the magic misted out, wrapping around it. The torn webbing healed, the bent bone straightened with a gasp from the dragon and set.

Douxie pulled the magic back, and it wafted around his staff. It kept gathering, pulling on his magical reserves. It wouldn’t stop. He placed both hands on the staff, focusing on stemming the flow of magic flowing from him. It wouldn’t stop! He fell to his knees as his strength left him.

Wind howled in the shop, books and trinkets falling to the ground. He pulled at the spell, trying to control it. It fought him.

“Douxie!” Archie braced himself on the table, claws digging into the top.

The world became blue as the magic swirled around the wizard, then flared brightly and all was dark.

**

“—xi…ouxie!...Douxie!” Archie’s dragon feet, with their large surface area and long claws, pushed on Douxies shoulder. Everything hurt, most likely bruised from the pile of books that lay over his legs. He had to have been thrown into one of the sturdy bookcases by how sore his back was. He groaned, and the familiar stopped jostling him.

“D-did it work?” he whispered, slowly blinking. It was light outside; he must have been out for a while.

“I say it did,” Archie opened up the perfectly healed wing. He leaned in close, nudging Douxie’s chest. “A little too well, I think.”

Douxie’s eye glanced over at the destruction in the workshop, books littered every surface, mostly the floor, items lay scattered everywhere. But he was lying next to the workshop table. He hadn’t been thrown across the room. Perhaps something large had flown across the room and struck him? He slowly levered himself up, pushing a few books off of him.

He hissed. His back ached, and he arched back, trying to stretch.

“Careful,” Archie’s eyes were on something over Douxie’s shoulder.

He looked over his shoulder. More destruction. And old suit of armor laying on its side. Perhaps that is what hit his back? He reached up and grabbed the worktable, pulling himself to his feet. His legs were wobbly, and he leaned on the bench. Archie jumped up. “Perhaps you should sit down for a bit, Douxie.”

“I will,” he motioned with his chin to a chair, laying on its side across the room. Stiffly and slowly, with Archie moving the occasional book, he stumbled over to the chair and righted it. He sunk down into it, only to bolt upright as his back hit the chair. “Fuzzbuckets!” He leaned forward, trying to relive some of the tension. “What hit my back, Archie? Ah…” his tried to ease the pain by shifting position again, “I don’t recall it ever being this sore!”

“Let me take a look. Take of your sweatshirt.”

“Good idea,” he struggled a bit, something on his back caught painfully on his sweatshirt, and black spots floated in his vision for a second. Did he get impaled on something? But Archie didn’t seem to be worried about blood. “What in Merlin’s Beard…?” A bit of silky dark floof floated by. There was a large amount of it on the inside of his sweatshirt.

Archie peaked over his shoulder, “Uh, well, like I said, the spell worked a little _too_ good.”

“Out with it, Archie.”

“It looks like I will be giving you flying lessons in a few months.”

“What…” Douxie looked over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see his own back clearly. He could see a curved fuzzy dark grey…something? He reached over his shoulder and patted it. Not fur. Feathers. Downy like chicks. No…it couldn’t be.

“Wings, and from the looks of them, they are going to be rather large.” Archie confirmed.

“What?!” He stood up, wobbling for a second before stumbling over to a mirror, a large crack across its surface. He turned his back to the mirror, and looked over his shoulder.

The wings were covered in fine, dark down. He focused on one, slowly and stiffly opening it. The wing itself was a little longer than his arm. A bit of floof floated past, glowing in the sunbeam as if it was a very large dust mote.

“That’s it, Douxie. Stretch them so they don’t cramp. Go on, do it a few times, get used to it.”

He held onto a nearby bookshelf, concentrating on moving and stretching both wings. The more he moved them, the less they—and his back, hurt. It was…weird. These new appendages reluctantly and stiffly obeying his commands.

“Douxie!” Oh no, Claire was here for her after school magic lesson, the girl stood stock still in the doorway, mouth agape. “What happened?” Her eyes scanned over the room, taking in the chaos. “What did you _do?_ ” She stalked forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stay still so she could get a close look at his back. “I...uh...healed Archie’s broken wing,” he vaguely motioned towards his familiar, “and, uh…the spell got away from me?”

She nodded. “Uh huh.” She placed a stool off to one side, near the mirror. “Sit, while I clean up some of this mess.”

Normally, he would chide her for ordering him around, like he was her apprentice. But, his eyes passed over the remnants of his lab, he couldn’t blame her. Books littered the floor, bits of broken trinkets and items scattered among them. “Keep flexing your wings!” Archie pushed a book back onto a shelf. “Wouldn’t want you cramping, now would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t.” With his hand balled into fists on his knees, he slowly flexed and stretched the wings, sometimes seeing a poof of black fluff out of the corner of his eye. Claire bustled around him, tidying up. “You don’t have to do that, love.”

She scoffed. “I am your apprentice, Hisirdoux Casperan.” She smoothed the pages of a large tome, then walked across the room carefully stepping around other books and debris, using both hands to place it in its proper place.

“So you are.”

“Back to fle—uh, stretching!” Claire waggled a finger at him.

“Yes mam!” He turned his back to her, facing the mirror. It was close enough to touch. His tee shirt tugged uncomfortably on his neck. He was grateful he favored the deep v-neck styles as they gave his wings room to form and not tear the fabric, but now the neck was pulled back and down. It rubbed most uncomfortably. He shifted, trying to ease his discomfort.

“Everything all right?” Archie was perched on the workbench, his yellow eyes focused on Douxie. His newly healed wing folded along his back.

“Uhg, this shirt is killing me.” He pulled on the neck, hissing as the fabric rode up in the back and caught on his wings.

“Something tells me you will need help with that,” Archie calmly licked one paw, then rubbed it against an ear.

There was only one other person in the building. A young, inexperienced witch in a committed relationship with a powerful warrior. His face warmed up, not at his own embarrassment—one does not live for nearly a millennium with rigid personal boundaries—but for her. He did not want to put her in that situation. However, the fabric was starting to hurt where it pulled on what would be the equivalent of armpits in his wings. He sighed deeply, “Claire…” she paused, one book halfway to its spot on the shelf. “I hate to ask this of you but…” he pulled on the sleeve of his shirt. “This has got to come off. It is rather uncomfortable.”

“Oh…oh!” The book slid into place with a little hiss. Douxie’s back was to her. “How…how do we do this?”

“Try not to cut it,” Archie motioned with one paw. “He’s managed to not mangle that shirt. I have a bet with a local gnome on it lasting two more weeks!”

“Really, Arch?” Douxie looked over his shoulder at the dragon. Claire stood behind him, covering her mouth with a hand. He could see the smile in her eyes. Oh good, she wasn’t too embarrassed then.

She cracked her knuckles. “Time to get to work, eh Teach?”

Douxie rolled his eyes, “Of course.” He suspected that he knew how Merlin felt now, with a wisecracking apprentice. But Merlin would never had let this happen. Though Merlin’s teacher never disappeared for 900 years; he should have been there to help Douxie learn what not to do. But that never happened. That would never happen. His breath hitched. What a way to mess up, Hirisdoux, can’t seem to do anything right.

Claire’s hand was soft on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Douxie sniffled. “It’s…a lot. I miss Merlin.” His voice was soft, almost whisper.

She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “I miss him too, even if he was a toolbag.”

“He was, wasn’t he,” Douxie chuckled. He could almost feel her eyes on his back, as she puzzled out the best way to remove the offending garment.

“How tight can you fold them up?”

After a few tries, they decided to remove the shirt one wing at a time. They had to take it slow, when a wing was almost closed enough, the muscles started to cramp painfully. He stood, hands gripped on the frame of the mirror, as the first wing was freed. He stretched it out, working out the cramp.

Douxie’s phone rang.

“I’m gonna get that, could be important.” Douxie waved Claire off, focusing on stretching and relaxing the muscle cramps. The other wing should be easier—he could pull the shirt over his head and off the wing last. In a few moments. He could feel Archie swirling around his legs, purring softly.

“What is it like, to fly?”

Archie paused. “Freeing, very freeing. Everything looks so small, and it is quite difficult to get lost, one just flies up and—swoop—you are there!”

“Hmm, convenient.”

“Indeed.”

Claire walked back in, her gaze locked on the phone on her hands. She looked worried. “What is it, Claire?” Douxie still had both hands clasped on the frame, but the grip was no longer white-knuckled.

“You are in _so_ much trouble with Zoe. She said she felt the magic surge from Hex Tech, and you didn’t answer any of her texts…” Claire knelt down to pet Archie.

He sighed, the broken mirror cool on his forehead. “Great…just great.”

Claire helped him lift the shirt over his head, then carefully slid it down the remaining wing. Since it could remain open, it did not cramp near as badly. “Hmm.” She shook out some of the bits of down that stuck on the shirt.

“Hmm, what?” Douxie looked over his shoulder again, shivering. Ah yes, the scars of a life long and dubiously lived crisscrossed his torso, though mostly on his back. He rested his head on the mirror. Claire did not deserve such treatment, and he vowed to stay with her, teach her, help her to avoid such mishaps. She will not live the life he lived. He hoped against all hope that the witch trials that plagued Europe for 200 years would never happen again, that Claire could be a wizard, powerful and free, not running and hiding as he had.

He shivered again, goosebumps rising on his arms. The shirt may have been thin, but it had offered some warmth. Claire reached towards him, and he felt something on his back. He braced himself, he hated being reminded of those scars; each one was a mistake that could have been avoided. Somehow.

He couldn’t bear to look at her, keeping his eyes closed and forehead on the cool glass of the cracked mirror. “You lived a hard life.” Her soft words broke the silence. It was an understatement if he had ever heard one. Then a sensation he had only felt before on his head, but now right between his shoulder blades. He knew this feeling. The soft, soothing prickling sensation of someone carefully playing with his hair. Did he have hair on his back? A small spike of hope, did it cover the worse of the scars? Oh no…did he have a hairy gorilla back now? Wonderful.

“Down,” he shivered as she passed her hand over whatever it was again. He was confused, it didn’t sound like an order to sit down, more like an observation. “You have downy feathers on your back, between the wings.”

Oh good, not hair. He grunted, and wrapped his arms around his chest, chasing the lost warmth of the shirt. A quick glance in the mirror. Huh…he was thinner than he remembered. He had put on some weight and muscle, but now his ribs were vaguely visible. Right, the mass for the wings had to come from _somewhere._ He sighed; he had been working so hard on being a little less boney.

“Oh, you’re cold, hold on.” She darted out of the room, returning shortly with a thin throw blanket that usually adorned a small couch in a reading nook upstairs. With his workshop also upstairs, next to his small apartment, it was the closest blanket available. She threw it over his head, tying it loosely at the back of his neck and waist. It smelled vaguely of lavender and vanilla. Zoe’s doing a few years ago, adding scented candles to augment the dusty scent of old books.

“Ah, good thought, Fair Claire.”

She giggled, and continued to clean up as Douxie flexed his wings.

**

“Hisirdoux Casperan!” Zoe’s angry yell echoed through the bookstore. He winced. This was not going to be good. Archie yelped and wisely hid.

Claire leaned out of the door, “In here, Zoe!”

She stomped in and placed a large grocery bag on the workbench. Douxie could feel her glare on his back. He dare not turn to face her just yet, not until she told him to. Instead, he stood stock still, wings half-open and shaking slightly. A bit of dark fluff floated in front of him. Great, he was already molting. Wonderful. “What. Happened.”

“Archie was hurt, and I tried a healing spell. We had to modify it for dragon wings.”

“You are terrible at healing spells. Why did you not call me for help?”

He swallowed. “Y-you have so many new hires at Hex Tech, I didn’t want to impose—”

“Impose? IMPOSE? _IMPOSE?!?!_ ” Zoe stormed up to Douxie, and spun him around so he could face her. Her eyes were red and moist. “Do you have _any idea how worried I was_?!” he started to speak, but she stopped him with one hand. “No, no, I do not want to hear it, Hirisdoux!” She used his full name twice. He was in extra deep trouble. She reached out, one hand on a shoulder, and the other reached towards a wing. He nodded, granting her permission to touch; not that she needed it. He shivered at the light, delicate contact. “I could have helped prevent this.”

“Prevent wings?” Archie peaked out from behind a shelf. “And whatever is wrong with wings?” He fluffed his wings out, showing them off before folding them up against his back.

“He’s not a shapeshifter like you, Archie. He can’t hide them.” She ran a hand down the fuzzy leading edge of a wing. Douxie could feel his eyes closing. Zoe continued to look at Archie. “But I know some people who can. The Akiridians. They use their tech to cloak their appearance, maybe I can ask them to do the same with…Douxie?” She looked up, his eyes were fully closed, and he was humming softly.

“Hmm?” One eye cracked open.

She looked at her hand, then, with an evil grin, passed it over the leading edge of the wing. At his hum, she laughed. “You, you enjoy this! Oh, this is great!”

Oh no. Too late, he pulled his wing back, bits of dark fluff caught in her hand. He could feel his face warming. And in front of his student, no less! Way to be professional.

Zoe looked at the fluff, rubbing if between her fingers. His face heated up with a furious blush. Claire laughed, her hands on her knees. Zoe smirked, her weight on one cocked hip. “Now-now, love,” he backed up half a step, careful not to crash into the mirror. “Uh, can’t be getting any bad ideas into anyone’s head now, can we?”

She smirked. “No, I guess not.” Zoe turned to the grocery bag, taking out the contents. “I did some quick research, and got some vitamins for you on the way over.” She looked up at him from under pink bangs, her gaze demanding. “You _will_ follow this regimen.” Her eyes passed over to Claire and Archie. “And you two will make _sure_ he follows it.”

“Yes m’am,” they replied.

Zoe nodded once, a quick, definitive gesture. One that would give even the most hardened drill sergeant something to think about. “Iron pills to prevent anemia—you are going to be making a lot of blood for when your bloodfeathers come in.” The large bottle was placed on the workbench with a thump. “Calcium and vitamin D, for the new bones.” Thump, thump. “Prenatal multivitamins—you did just make two whole new limbs.” Thump. “You will take all of these with food, and at twice the recommended dose. You will eat large meals, and twice as many. You will bask for at least one hour a day—”

“Bask?”

“Helps with vitamin D, and you need that for strong bones.” She turned and leaned one hip on the bench. “Where do you think the bones for your wings came from? You can’t make something out of nothing, y’know.” She pointed at him. “And you need to eat all of the protein you can handle.”

Zoe walked up to him, and placed a hand on his chest, covered in a throw blanket patterned with flowers. “And we will see about a weightlifting regimen for you.”

“Icy hot?” Claire held up a large jar, one of the few items left in the bag.

“For the cramps. I figured he would have some after weight training.”

Douxie placed his hands on Zoe’s shoulders, wincing as a muscle cramped. He opened the offending wing. “My Lady, the cramps are happening now. How about some of that wonderful ointment, eh?”

“Hmm,” Zoe stepped back, looking him over. “Claire,” she turned to the young witch, “Do you mind cleaning up in here some more while I take care of Sir Wizard Dufous?”

“Not at all!” She handed Zoe the Icy Hot. “I will place these in the kitchen, if that is alright with you?”

Zoe nodded. Douxie was in for it, he knew it. He sighed, and resigned himself to his fate. And yet another muscle cramp. They were fewer, and easier to work out, but they still ached. He could feel deeper cramps in his chest and back.

“To your bedroom,” she ordered.

Douxie’s room was messy, sheet music, instruments from all eras, mostly reproductions, littered every surface. Posters of rockbands, Shakespearean plays, a few operas, and Broadway musicals decorated the walls. He grimaced. But Zoe had seen worse. She stopped just inside of the doorway. “This won’t work.”

“Why not?” He was confused. His bead was unmade, sure, but clear of laundry for once. All of his blankets where even piled on top of it, and not pushed onto the floor.

“I need to get to both sides of the bed.” She started to clear the floor, piling things carefully to one side. He started to help her, reaching down, but she stopped him with a stern glare. “No.” She tossed her phone at him. “Your job is to reply to your texts and mine that you are okay, got it?”

“Yes, love.” He bent to the task, grateful to have something to focus on. He winced as Zoe pulled his bed from the wall, rotating it so the head was at the wall, and the sides clear. There was not much room on either side of the bed—she had to stop and shuffle piles of stuff around a few times—but she was satisfied with the access. That was all Douxie cared about, he could always put things back to rights when Zoe was done with him.

It took a few minutes to reply to all of the texts. “All done.”

“Good,” she walked behind him, untying the blanket. “On the bed, stomach down.”

Without complaint, he lay down, pushing some of the blankets to one side. Zoe left, and returned with a short stool. She placed it at the side of the bed. “Where are you cramping the worse?”

Everything was cramping. He focused for a bit, “Ah…” a twinge, “My shoulders, back, then wings, some of my chest, I think.”

“The chest can wait.” Her hands were soft on a wing. She lifted it slowly. “Tell me if this hurts at all.” That was not a request. He hummed his assent, not wanting to anger one of his oldest friends. He could hear Archie and Claire converse softly in the workshop.

Her fingers delved deep into the downy fluff at the base of the wing, strong digits working at sore and complaining muscles. He shivered as the cold salve was applied, worked deep past the fluff. Strong hands massaged where his wing joined with his back, just between and below his shoulders. “Interesting.”

He grunted, not wanting her to stop. For the first time since he came to with wings, at least one of them was not cramping. “The muscles are so different.” She massaged deeper, seeking. “Ah...I see. I am so going to have to get a scan of these.” She traced his shoulder blade, and then traced it again. What…wait. Those were different. She murmured, “I think there are two shoulder blades here, one for your arm,” a hand massaged a small knot, “and one for your wing. Makes sense—from that one anatomy class I took about 50 years ago.” Zoe worked the salve into aching muscles, changing from one side of the bed to the other. “But no keel, you won’t be able to fly without assistance.”

He turned his head so his pillow did not muffle his words too badly. “Makes sense, wasn’t exactly born with these.”

“Krel will be thrilled with this new ‘project’.” Douxie mulled over her words, and the earlier mention of asking the Arkidion for help. She had a very good point. Krel was forever looking for new ways to challenge himself, and new ways to integrate magic with his technology.

Douxie lay still as she murmured to herself, sometimes angry, sometimes curious. She finished, and he was relaxed for the first time since he woke, no muscles twitched painfully, the salve cool, then warming in some places. She hummed, and passed her fingers over the fluff of his wings, combing through the downy feathers and smoothing them out. It was bliss. It was as if she was carding her fingers through his hair, but over a larger surface area.

Now that the muscles were relaxed, he could feel some itching. “Itches,” he murmured into his pillow.

Zoe laughed softly. “I can see that—there are some dry patches. Hold on, I’ll get some lotion.”

He lamented the loss of her warm hands on his wings, her presence at his side. The loss was not long, and soon she was next to him, graceful fingers finding each patch of rough, flaking skin. The lotion was cool, but warmed quickly under her touch. He hummed. “Like that, don’t you?” Zoe ran a hand down the fluff between his wings. He hummed again, eyes closed in pleasure.

“Good,” she continued applying lotion, stopping every so often to run her hand through the down. She didn’t stop until his breathing was deep and even.

**

“How is he?” Zoe was not sure who said it. The main floor of the bookstore was crowded with his friends.

She turned and leaned a hip on the banister. “He’s fine. A little sore, but fine.” She motioned a hand at Claire. “Claire, did you explain to everyone what happened?” The girls nodded. “Good,” Zoe turned to the group as a whole, “Claire and Archie have the instructions on Douxie’s care. But I do need to ask a couple of you some questions.” They backed up a half step. Apparently, her reputation preceded her. “Steve, do you still go to that gym across town?”

The blond man puffed his chest out. “Of course!”

“Good, Douxie will need to strengthen his…everything.” Steve nodded, and bowed to her. “As you wish, my Lady!” Finally, someone who took his job seriously! She snorted, then turned to Krel.

“Can you make something that will disguise his wings?”

Krel nodded once, “Easily.”

This is the most support he has had in centuries; he was going to need it. His wings felt permanent, solid, and when she was massaging the salve into his muscles, she examined them on a more magical level. Douxie’s magic flowed in the wings the same way as his arms and legs.

The hard part will be getting him to accept all of their assistance. “He is sleeping right now.” An evil grin lit up her face. “Anyone want to take bets on what color they are going to be when his feathers come in? Loser buys pizza, winners help pay for it.” In deference to everyone’s financial status. It took a lot of pizza to feed such a large group.

Toby pulled out a notebook, and jotted down a few notes. “I’ll be the bookie. Who wants to place the first bet?”

**

Stupid birds. Loud, laserlike chirps echoed through his small room. He buried his head deeper into his pillow, trying to muffle the sound. No luck, the birds kept reenacting space battles outside of his window. A thin blanket was over him, pulled up to his waist. He shifted, the muscles of his back twinged. Uh…right. Wings.

He groaned softly. What a mess. His back was warm; it must be late afternoon, when the sun shined through his bedroom window.

“Good morning, Douxie.” Archie padded into the room. The bed moved as he jumped onto it and curled up next to Douxe’s head. The wizard grunted. “Doing better, I see.” He chuckled. “Seriously, though. How do you feel?”

A moment to take stock of himself. Douxie hummed. “Back’s sore. Wings itch.” Stomach growled loudly. “Hungry.”

“Very well, I will fetch Lady Claire to apply some of that foul smelling ointment. Really, must every useful ointment reek?” Archie jumped off of the bed. Soon Claire entered the room, drying her hands.

“Teach, when was the last time you did dishes, seriously, I might have to come over here more often to clean.”

“Ha ha.”

Archie was right, the ointment, cool at first then warming up, did reek. But the relief from the muscle cramps was worth it. Claire settled in a stool, gently pulling one wing into her lap. She carded her fingers through the down, now coming out in thicker clumps. “This is fast.”

“Hmmm?”

“Your pinfeathers are starting to come in.” She rubbed some lotion onto a particularly itchy spot. He could feel her fingers catch on something, and he twitched as it stung. “Sorry! Looks like these are going to be tender for a while, as your…uh…adult feathers grow in.”

“Nuclear.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. He blew a bit of floof out of his face. Her fingers were not as strong or confident as Zoe’s, but she was able to find most of the itching bits, with a murmured direction or two.

“Time to get up, Teach.”

He grunted. No thank you very much, he was fine right where he was. His stomach had other thoughts, growling loudly. Claire laughed. “Sounds like you have been overruled!”

Douxie slowly sat up, “First Zoe, then you, and now my stomach. I will never win, will I.”

“Nope,” Claire popped the p.

She handed him an old, battered teeshirt, cut down the back with ties hanging off the shoulders and waist. “Time to make you presentable for your breakfast.”

He took it from her, placing his arms though the holes while she walked around and tied the ties behind him. “Not bad, I see where I can make a few adjustments, but for now, it’ll have to do.”

He turned to face her. “Thank you, Fair Claire.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I appreciate this, you know.”

She blushed lightly. “That’s fine. Let’s get you downstairs. Jim is cooking.”

Douxie brightened, he had heard of the ex-trollhunter’s cooking ability, but had never been able to taste his wares. “Nuclear!”

**

A stool had been placed at the table, which was piled high with all kinds of food. The smell alone was causing him to drool, his stomach growling even louder.

Jim laughed, placing a plate in front of Douxie. “Eat, eat!”

Claire handed Douxie a glass of water and a few pills. “Your first round of vitamins, that’s all. They work better with food.”

Douxie made sure the vitamins had plenty of food to “work better with”; he had never eaten so much in his life. Not at one of the many feasts at Camelot, not at old fashioned holiday gatherings, not at the Chinese buffet across town. And he felt as if he could eat more. He rested his head in his hands, “That was a fine feast, Sir Jim.”

Jim chuckled. “I’m glad I came over early to start cooking! I’d hate to get into an eating competition with you, man.”

“Heh,” he pulled a wing around, under his arm and in front of his chest, idly itching at a spot on the leading edge.

Claire placed her hands on her hips. “No preening at the table. You are going to get your floof everywhere!”

Jim caught a stray bit of floof as it floated by. “It already is.”

“Sorry, love.” Douxie folded his wing against his back. His shoulders were starting to get sore bearing the extra weight, but the movement itself was easier.

“Out with you,” she shoed Jim and Douxie from the kitchen. “I have a mess to clean up. Jim, can you help Douxie with his,” she motioned to the wizard, still sitting on the chair. “Floof?”

“Sure thing,” he leaned over and pecked her cheek. “Alright, Doux, you heard the lady. Out, and how do you deal with all this floof?”

**

The days were spent preening, getting floof and bits of emerging feather sheaf everywhere. Douxie had taken to preening outside—once Krel had made his cloaking device, as it was soon called. It allowed him to discreetly go up the fire escape to the building’s roof. The alien had added some other features, bits of anti-grav technology to help ease the weight of the wings, and a long, thin shield along the leading edge that could be used as a weapon, but was now used to protect the emerging bloodfeathers. Especially after an unfortunate event with a doorframe. Douxie knew why they were called “pinfeathers”, as the emerging feathers looked not unlike a long, plumed pin; he also knew why those same feathers where called bloodfeathers. It was quite a mess to clean up when one of them became damaged.

Steve brought over a spare weight set, and had set up a weightlifting routine, and, surprisingly, a yoga routine to “work on his flexibility.” It was an astonishing show of foresight—Douxie needed the extra flexibility to reach all of the itchy places.

One day in late fall, the air crisp and cool, he stood in the light streaming in the workshop window, admiring his wings in the light. As much as he regretted them--it was a stupid, foolish mistake that he will have to live with for the rest of his long, long life—he rather liked the way they looked. Sleek, slightly iridescent black feathers, the sunlight picking out deep indigoes and blues. The tips of the longer flight feathers, his primaries, were tipped with streaks of blue, fading from a deeper indigo midway up the feather to a light, electric blue at the very tip. There were some streaks of blue and purple in his secondaries and coverlets. He shook his wings out, grateful that he no longer had piles of grey floof floating everywhere. Claire had kept most of it, swearing to make a pillow for Archie.

The dragon in question was in his cat form, dozing in the sun, nose tucked up by his tail. He sighed in his sleep, the tip of one ear twitching. Douxie looked back at the mirror. He didn’t know what he would have done if he didn’t have his friends to help him. There was a gap in his wing were the injured feather had been. Turns out, the treatment for an injured bloodfeather was to remove it. That…was not a pleasant process. The new feather was starting to come in, but it was growing at a more reasonable pace than his first set.

“Admiring the view?” Archie stretched out, tripling his length as only cats can.

“Heh,” Douxie turned from the mirror. The muscle cramps had ended a couple of weeks ago, but his shoulders and chest still became sore if he didn’t wear Krel’s wonderful devices. The Akiridan would ramble on as he calibrated them, considering and discarding many modifications. They were an odd mix of Akiridion tech and his own magic clamped over his shoulders with a thin tendril down the middle of his back, ending in a pad at his lower spine, and then around the sides of his waist. Matching cuffs, nestled deep at the base of his feathers, helped balance the weight. He lifted a wing, passing a hand over the smooth inner surface. “I think that last bit of floof is gone now.”

“That is fantastic!” Archie poofed into his dragon form in a glittering cloud of yellow and gold. “Time for a pre-fight lesson celebration! I just need to call the Lady Claire…” he flitted out of the room.

“What? Wait!” Douxie dashed after him, Archie had one paw on Douxie’s cellphone, the message already sent. “That was fast.”

“I have been practicing!” Archie sat up proudly, puffing out his chest. He sighed, lowering his head. “I…I always want to be prepared. I can’t lose you, Douxie.”

Douxie reached forward, wrapping his arms around his familiar. “I can’t lose you either, old friend.”

“You can do better, now.”

“What?” Douxie leaned back, looking down in confusion. Archie opened his wings. “Come on, Give it a try.” He stood on his hind legs, and placed his forefeet in the center of Douxie’s chest. “You owe me your first wing hug!” He wrapped his wings around Douxie. Oh. It was strangely extra comforting, the wings warm and supple. Douxie shifted his wings, wrapping them around his own body and his familiar’s. They entered their own world, shrouded in warmth, darkness, and memories. He sniffed, rubbing his face in the Archie’s shoulder, wrapping the dragon up in his arms.

“Now,” Archie sniffed, “now, now, not too much of that. We will be having company soon.”

“Right, right.” Douxie pulled away, rubbing at his eyes. “Wait…company?”

**

Steve waltzed into the bookstore and headed upstairs to Douxie’s small apartment. In his arms were several pizza boxes. Behind him trailed Douxie’s friends, Krel, Claire and Jim, Zoe, and Toby. The trolls had stayed home, the sun shining high in the sky.

“I lost the bet,” Steve placed the pizza boxes on the table.

“Bet, what bet?”

“Final wing color,” Zoe motioned with one finger for Douxie to spin around. He sagged, and gave in to her demand. “Yup, called it, black with blue streaks.”

Douxie finished his spin, “Really, guys?”

“Yeah!” Toby jumped up, a slice of pizza in one hand. “Most of us guessed black, cuz, y’know, your downy feathers were so dark and you have black hair. Steve here,” he motioned to Steve with his pizza slice, “Thought they would be solid blue.”

Steve stuck his tongue out, and swiped a slice of pepperoni.

Zoe knelt down and placed a slice of extra-anchovy pizza in front of Archie, who purred with pleasure before digging in.

Douxie opened a wing a bit, and motioned to the blue tips with a shrug. “I tried.”

The night was filled with laughter, music, and the best conversation Douxie had in decades.

**

“Ready?” Archie stood on a low rise in the middle of a large field, wings half open. Douxie stood next to him, wings open and slowly flapping. Claire, Zoe, and Krel stood at the field’s edge, looking equal parts worried, grumpy, and excited. Most everyone wanted to be present, but Zoe wanted to make sure that Douxie focused on just this lesson. When he was more proficient, they would celebrate properly. That and the GoPro harness she had ordered for him hadn’t arrived yet. She was going to get the best footage.

Claire had her cell phone ready, held tightly in both hands.

The wizard crouched, hands on his knees, wings wide open and activated the Akiridion tech with the flip of a wrist. A soft blue glow covered the leading edge of the wings, and he could just see the wide, flat tail behind him. “For steering,” Krel had supplied with his usual cheer. “Earth birds have them, and my simulations where not…favorable when there was no tail.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He had regained what muscle mass he had lost when the wings had first formed, and a little more besides, but he was never going to be able achieve any kind of bulk—the magic that kept him young also kept his body rail thin. His practice on the rooftop of his bookstore and in the Lake’s backyard had proved fruitful, he was able to jump a fair bit into the air and hover for a limited amount of time. A more secluded and larger area was needed to get the true feeling of flight.

He and Zoe had spent the better part of the last two weeks fortifying this field, spells to cushion wild landings surrounded him, the better trees to land in glowing a soft violet. According to Archie, taking off and flying was the easy part; landing, not so much.

The wind kicked up as he flapped his wings, the Akiridion tech tightening across his shoulders and waist. At first uncomfortable, it was welcomed—a technological safety harness. He could feel himself become lighter, as the anti-grav tech took over and he started to lift, hovering a few feet off of the ground. It was an amazing piece of work, a meld of technology and his magic.

“Very good,” Archie hovered just in front of him. “Now, like I showed you…”

Douxie fanned out the primaries, pushing down on the air, relaxing them on the upsweep. The leading edge was pushed down on the next push, and he moved forward, the tail flexing against his hips as it compensated for his balance. He flapped a few more times.

“Open your eyes, Douxie!” Archie swooped around him.

The trees were so far behind him, his friend specks on the rise in the field. “Oh fuzzbuckets! How do I steer!”

“Calm, calm!” Archie swooped under him, pushing on his chest. “Breathe deep, and lean a little bit the way you want to go. Trust your instincts.”

“Instincts, instincts, right.” He leaned too far right, and slipped sideway several meters before some panicked flapping righted him just above the trees.

“Good, good.”

“Good?! I almost landed in the trees!”

Archie ignored him. “Now, fly forward and lean again, but not as much as before.”

Soon, under Archie’s careful tutelage, Douxie could circle the field. He flew without finesse, but he was flying! The trees passed under him in a green blur, the wind harsh on his face. Maybe Krel could make him some sort of face mask? Claire jumped and clapped below him, Krel’s eyes were focused on a tablet as he analyzed the inputs he was receiving from the flight assist tech. Zoe stood, arms crossed, before touching her ear.

“Time to get down, flyboy.” The comm—part of the tech package Douxie was now outfitted with—carried her voice loud and clear. He startled, dropping a few meters and skimming the tops of the trees with his primaries.

He rose a bit with a couple of mighty flaps, before banking left. “Alright, love, coming in for a landing.”

“You’re coming in too hot!” Archie swooped around him, all four feet pawing at the air.

Douxie pulled back as much as he could, trying to remember everything Archie had taught him about backwinging. The thumblike alula—a group of feathers at the forward bend of his wing—opened to disrupt the airflow over his primaries. He dropped his legs down, making sure to keep his knees loose like one of those fancy parkour moves he saw in a video game once.

The ground rushed up far too fast for his liking, and he hit hard, absorbing the momentum by rolling over his shoulder, to a stop, wings fluttering all over. He stopped flat on his back, chest heaving.

“Douxie!” Claire and Zoe ran up to him, Krel a step behind. Archie hovered over him, crossing his forelegs.

“I know, I know Arch, too hot,” he waved a grass-stained hand at his familiar. “But that was nuclear!” He sat up as his friends arrived.

Zoe cuffed him on the back of his head. “You will be the end of me, Hisirdoux!”

He chuckled, then leaned over as belly laughs took over. Soon, he was joined by his friends. Maybe the wings were one of the best things he could have had happened to him.

**Author's Note:**

> There is artwork for this fic...but to get off my lazy duff and clean it up. Heh.


End file.
